


And The Law Won

by RebaK1tten



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alpha Peter, Lawyer Peter Hale, M/M, Pre-Slash, Several years after canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2016-12-20
Packaged: 2018-09-10 17:41:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8926342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RebaK1tten/pseuds/RebaK1tten
Summary: Stiles was not expecting this public defender.  But he's helpful in a lot of ways.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gryvon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gryvon/gifts).



“Wait here, your attorney will be in shortly.” The officer pushes Stiles, gently, but it’s a push and Stiles stumbles a little making his way to the wooden table with chairs on either side.

He picks one and settles in to wait; nothing ever goes quickly at a police station. His head’s pounding, but at least his stomach isn’t railing at him, so he puts his head on the table, shutting his eyes.

He’s not sure how long he’s waited, but when he jerks his head up from the sound of the door opening, there’s definitely a wet spot of drool on his sleeve.

“Well, well, well. I wondered if there could be two Mieczysław Stilinskis. I didn’t think it was possible and I was right!”

Stiles looks up at the familiar voice and groans. “Why the fuck are you here? I’m supposed to meet with a public defender. Not a public homicidal asshole.”

“Tsk, tsk, tsk, Stiles,” Peter says, putting a file folder and his coffee cup on the table. He takes off his jacket and tosses it over the camera that protrudes from the wall. “I am your public defender. As everyone in the office was looking at your file, trying to figure out if your criminal tendencies are due to the child abuse that is your name, I volunteered to take your case.”

“Lucky me,” he answers and looks towards the coat and camera. “That safe? Are we being recorded? We’re not supposed to be recorded…”

Peter stops and Stiles has a flashback to werewolf listening poses. “Nothing electronic in here. So we can talk openly.” He opens the file and reads it quickly, shaking his head. “Public drunkenness - they’ll give you a pass on that. Luckily, Seattle looks upon this as a substance abuse disorder.  Disorderly conduct – now, that we need to look at, especially since this isn’t your first time. Third time, Stiles? And my favorite, public urination.”

Peter flips through a couple of pages, and from reading upside down, Stiles thinks it’s the arrest report. “In my defense, I was very full of liquid.”

“You nearly pissed on a cop car, Stiles.” He reaches over, taking Stiles chin in his hand and looking at the bruises and scrapes down one side of his face. “I’m surprised this is all you have.”

“I fell down,” Stiles states flatly. “I was drunk and I tripped.”

The eyebrow goes up, just like Stiles remembers, but Peter says nothing.

“So you’re really a public defender? That’s why you left Beacon Hills?” Stiles asks, leaning on his hand. “I picture you more as the vicious prosecutor type.”

“I’ve always been a defender, Stiles. That was always my role. When we met, things were a little different and I was left to be judge, jury and executioner.” He makes a couple of notes on the paper and says, “Since this is your third arrest, I think you’ll probably get 90 days in county jail. Meaning as long as you can behave, you’ll be out in 45 days.”

“45 days?” Stiles gasps, sitting up quickly. That’s not what he was expecting. He then grabs his head and shuts his eyes, waiting for the pain to pass. “45 days in prison, you can’t just get me a fine and time served? So basically you suck as a public defender?”

Peter pushes his coffee towards Stiles, reaching into his shirt pocket and pulling out a small plastic bag. “Tylenol,” he says. “Don’t tell anyone I gave them to you.”

Stiles swallows them down quickly, making a face at the coffee, but not quite giving it back. “Next time, cream and sugar, please.”

“Or, we have the option of just not doing this again.” Peter leans back, hands clasped on the table. “Three times, Stiles? Maybe you need to take a break from here and spend a few months back in Beacon Hills with your father?”

“My father’s dead.” Stiles pushes the cup back, spilling a little on the scarred table. “He’s been dead for years now.”

“I’m sorry,” Peter says and Stiles thinks there’s real regret on his face. But then again, he always was a good actor. “What happened? If you don’t mind me asking.”

Stiles scrubs his hands through his hair, frowning at how dirty it feels. “It was during my first year of college, so that’s what? Eight years ago? There was a troll in town, a fucking troll, if you can believe that. Who expects a troll? And no one told me; Scott thought he could take care of it and didn’t want to get any weak humans involved. So he didn’t tell me, so I couldn’t tell my Dad.” He stops and takes a breath, looking away from Peter’s intense gaze. “My Dad went to investigate a disturbance under a freeway overpass and that’s where the troll was. And it killed him.”

“I’m sorry,” Peter repeats. “I know it’s not enough, but I am sorry. I know too well what it’s like to lose family; I always felt that was something we had in common.”

“I guess so,” Stiles says, and Peter notes his hands are shaking. “I wasn’t living at home at the time, I had already gone to Berkeley, but I thought the pack would tell…” He shakes his head, trying to clear the vision, to remove some of the fog. “Scott didn’t say anything before it happened and he was all apologies afterwards, of course.”

Peter just nods, letting Stiles talk.

“I haven’t been back since the funeral. Well, briefly for packing up the house, and putting stuff into storage, sign some papers.” He shakes his head and says, “But nothing else. There’s nothing in Beacon Hills for me anymore. I guess you understand that feeling, you took off… when? I think before junior year of high school, right?”

“Absolutely. Cora left and it’s not like Derek and I were close,” Peter answers. “Actually, we’ve been talking more since I left and he’s visited here. I think he’s in South America now, with Cora’s pack. Well, it’s their pack, the both of them.”

“Oh. I didn’t know that. Like I said, after I left, I just… There’s nothing there for me. I couldn’t trust the pack, I couldn’t trust Scott.” He’s quiet for a moment, looking down at the table and finally says, “It was his birthday yesterday.”

Peter sits back in his chair, Stiles’ scent gone bitter in the closed room. “I see. So you’ve been gone eight years? I guess that means ten for me. I don’t miss it either.”

“I guess you’re doing okay here,” Stiles says, smiling slightly. “Successful lawyer. Kill anyone lately?”

Peter chuckles and doodles in the file, just for something to do with his hands. “Nope, sorry to disappoint you, sweetie, but I’ve been a model citizen, more or less. Another reason to leave Beacon Hills. Too many memories there, none of them good. And if I couldn’t kill an alpha when there was a whole pack there, it was obvious it wasn’t going to happen in good ol’ Beacon Hills.”

Stiles snorts and says, “So life’s better here then?”

“Much,” Peter says and flashes bright red eyes. “Thank you for asking.”

“Oh, Jesus, I thought you said you hadn’t killed anyone lately.”

“It was years ago, Stiles, I’ve been the alpha of my pack for…” Peter pauses and thinks for moment before he says, “Five year anniversary next June, actually. What’s the gift for that? Wood? They’re a good pack, I started as a beta, discovered I liked the pack and everyone hated the alpha and you know how these things happen.”

“No. No, I don’t know how these things happen. What I do know is you manage to kill people wherever you go. I’m going to guess your murder spree isn’t popular with the King’s County offices,” Stiles says, taking Peter’s coffee, even though he makes a face after drinking another sip.

“It wasn’t a spree, it was one person, don’t exaggerate. One not even human, so it has nothing to do with human laws.” Peter takes his cup back and checks how much is left before he sighs and pushes it back to Stiles. “As I said, the pack didn’t like him; he was a dictator. And a prick. And a republican, so believe me, my actions were a public service.”

Stiles can’t do much with that other than snort. “And you have a pack, like a real pack now? They didn’t all run from the guy who killed their alpha?”

“He was my alpha, too,” Peter answers, shrugging and looking totally nonplussed. “A couple left, but overall, there’s ten of us. It’s different in cities like this,” he muses. “We don’t all live together. One lives about an hour away, he’s the furthest. There’s one pack member who works in my office and I see her every day, but otherwise, we see each other every couple of weeks. And during the full moon, of course.”

“Sounds good and well adjusted. Good for you, you’ve been very successful here,” Stiles says, and drains the rest of the coffee.

“Speaking of successful,” Peter says, grinning as he pulls out his phone, pressing buttons quickly. “Vernon Hills, author of supernatural crime mysteries. By any chance, do you know him?”

Stiles blushes and rubs his chapped lips, sighing before he answers. “How do you happen to know of those?”

“The woman who works in my office showed me the first book; she was concerned that the plot followed my family’s history a bit too closely,” Peter answers, and even without fangs, his smile is predatory. “I agreed that it did and also pointed out enough factual errors that I didn’t feel too… what’s the word? Outed?”

“Yeah, I didn’t want to get everything right. So I took some of the facts and made them a little more sexy,” Stiles answers. “I didn’t think you’d ever see it -- I did tell Derek I was doing it and he said he didn’t care as long as I changed names.”

“Oh, I’m not upset, it’s just pretty funny. The main character is a police detective, a male police detective, who takes a male alpha werewolf as his lover and they solve crimes together? Interesting story. I’m told they’re popular?” Peter says and now he’s obviously gloating.

“Yeah, I do alright. I’m working on the third book now and there’s been some discussion about adapting them for television,” Stiles says, challenge in his voice and posture. Which would be more effective if his eyes weren’t so bloodshot.

Peter’s smile is close to the cruel one Stiles remembers. “Interesting. I guess they’d have to tone down the sex scenes quite a bit. I did read one from…the second book? They were in an alley, was that the second book? Quite steamy, you’re either well read or…”

Stiles smirks back. “Or I’m totally queer? Let’s go with that one. And should I ask why you’re reading a gay mystery? You started out saying you barely knew about them, and now you’re reading the second one? Someone’s pants on fire, Peter?”

“Let’s avoid discussions involving fire and I never discussed my sexuality with teenagers, Stiles, and as you’ll remember, you were 16 or 17 when I left.” Peter’s smile is softer as he says, “I probably shouldn’t be discussing this with a client either, but gender is not top on my list of concerns with potential partners.”

Stiles squints, studying the alpha and guesses, “Homicidal tendencies?”

“Bing bing bing! Give the boy a prize.” Peter shrugs and ticks off on his fingers, “Qualities in order of importance are not homicidal, attractive and temporary. A person’s sex or gender is way down on the list.”

“So I guess that makes you pan?” At Peter’s puzzled look, Stiles continues, “If you don’t care about the person’s biological sex or their gender…”

“Hmm. Kids today have definitions for everything, I guess.” Peter raises an eyebrow and says, “And this conversation is totally unprofessional of me, sorry.”

“You tried to bite me when we first met, so I think professional means something different between us.” Stiles grins, leaning back in his chair, crossing his legs, smiling smugly. “But no Mrs. or Mr. Alpha? No little Hale alpha cubs?”

“Not from me, thanks. The Hale line is being continued by Cora, thank you very much.”

Stiles nearly flails his way out of his chair, much like his high school self. “Cora? Cora your niece? I can’t picture her taking care of anyone’s baby, let alone having her own pup!”

Peter rolls his eyes and says, “Child. She had a child. Werewolves have children and for your information, real wolves have cubs. And she’s a good mother -- she restricts my access to birthdays and holidays.”

“Wise woman. Wow, Cora’s a mom,” he says, and studies Peter again. “Well, as a wise man once said, we are all works in progress.”

“I think we are. Speaking of, since you’re a successful writer and not at all indigent, you don’t qualify for a free public defender,” Peter says, making notes in the file.

“What? I have _some_ money, I mean I’m not rich or anything! You can’t help me?”

“I _can_ help you, but not for free. I do work for a private firm and we do some pro bono for the county. But as I said, you don’t qualify. But I can work for you, if you want to hire me,” Peter explains, smiling smugly.

“Can you do better than 90 days in jail? Do you work harder for clients who pay?” Stiles asks, leaning forward with a sneer.

“Of course not,” Peter answers and he looks genuinely offended by the idea. “However, if you prefer another attorney – one you’ll pay for – I can call my firm and get someone else for you.”

Stiles shakes his head, all bluster gone. “No. No, I never thought I’d say this, but I think I trust you. At least in this. So… less than 90 days? Anything?”

Peter looks at the file again and then tilts his head and studies Stiles until the younger man looks away, a flash of irritation on his face.

“What? Stop looking at me like I’m a bug or dirt on your shoe or something. If I’m paying you, you could try not to look at me like I’m scum,” Stiles practically spits out.

“I’m sorry, Stiles, I have a suggestion and I’m not sure how you’ll react. Well, actually, I am now. You’ll be snippy and childish. But I’ll say it anyway, because it’s my job to defend you, and this is the best option to get you less jail time or possibly no jail time.” Peter flips to the back of his folder and pulls out a sheet of paper. “This is a list of AA meetings around your house and around the city. There’s also a calendar on the back. I can get your hearing set up for a month out and it would help to negotiate a plea if you can attend thirty meetings in thirty days. With that – and of course no problems until the trial – I should be able to get you off with a fine and no jail time.”

“AA?” Stiles snorts. “Peter, I got a little drunk. I was sad and got drunk and I don’t need…”

“Need doesn’t matter here,” Peter interrupts. “You want to at least _appear_ like you’re getting your life under control. If you can get a letter from your agent or publisher or someone saying that you’re employed and we can show you’re making progress on your rehabilitation and you have your thirty meetings, I can keep you out of jail. Or you can take the 90 days, which is probably 45 if you keep out of trouble in jail – something that I’m not sure you can do.”

“Yeah, fine, I’ll do it.” He points at Peter and says, “You need to make sure if I do this, I don’t go to jail. That’s the only reason I’m doing this at all.”

“In my experience, this should keep you out. I can’t guarantee it one hundred percent; there are no guarantees on it. What I can guarantee is if you don’t try, you’ll certainly get the full sentence.” Peter stops and shuts the folder and says, “It’s up to you. I’ll go to trial with you either way.”

Stiles nods, grimace on his face. “Yeah, okay, fine. You’ll set me up? And when can I get out of here?”

“I’ll get your bail set and we should have you out shortly. Believe me, no one wants to keep you here,” Peter answers, pulling over his briefcase.

“So what’s next?” Stiles asks, resting his head on his arms on the table, back to where they started. “Sign stuff with a bail bondman or something? I did some research for a book…”

“I’ll take care of it for you,” Peter answers. “Consider it part of the service.”

“You’ll add it to my bill?”

Peter smiles as he stands and says, “Treat’s on me.”

“I think I’d rather repay you; it’s cleaner that way,” Stiles replies, standing and stretching. His headache’s gone and now he’s thinking of food. Maybe a grilled cheese sandwich or something easy to eat.

Peter smirks and puts the AA material back in his folder. “Tell you what – I’ll pay for your bail and in your next book, you lay off talking about ‘the crinkles around Paul’s eyes’ and ‘his attractive laugh lines’. Okay?”

Stiles grins and says, “I like the crinkles around Paul’s eyes. But I’ll find something else, will that work?”

“Thank you, Stiles,” Peter says, grabbing his jacket and then pressing a buzzer to get one of the guards to come and let him out. “I assume you can get yourself home? And I’ll be in touch.”

 

The first meeting is weird. There’s so many people here with stories that are just tragic, nothing like his own. Their history makes him feel like an amateur, like he shouldn’t be here listening to everyone talking about their pain.

But Peter says it’s important and he really doesn’t want to spend a night in jail (another night, let’s be honest, he’s spent a night or three sleeping it off) and if this is what’s required, he’ll suck it up and do it. Maybe he’ll need it for a book sometime.

He blinks when he goes outside into the bright sunlight and blinks again when he sees Peter parked at the curb, leaning against his black Mercedes. He’s doing something on his phone, glancing up with a smile when he sees Stiles.

“Nice to know the stalking habit hasn’t changed,” Stiles says, arms crossed across his chest. “Checking to be sure I’m going? Here’s my signed slip, okay?”

Peter tucks his phone into a pocket, stepping forward. “Not checking on you at all. I just know the first time can be a little intense and thought you might want some company. And maybe some lunch – unless you’re full of doughnuts and coffee?”

“I could have a burger and a beer,” Stiles says, checking to see Peter’s reaction. Or non-reaction, which isn’t any fun. “Or maybe an omelet. And potatoes, I like potatoes.”

Peter drives to a diner that Stiles has gone to a few times, one of his favorites and they settle into a booth. There’s not a lot of talking until after they’ve ordered and Stiles has downed his first cup of coffee.

“Gotta say, the coffee here’s a lot better than at the meeting,” he says, pouring in some more sugar.

“Good. I like this place, they have good waffles,” Peter says, sipping his own black coffee.

“You’re not going to ask about the meeting?” Stiles picks up his silverware, stacking the fork on top of the knife and then flipping them over. Looking at them is better than looking at Peter.

“I thought you’d talk about it if you want to. It’s not required and I promise I won’t be outside after every meeting.” Peter reaches over and takes the silverware from Stiles, setting it rather firmly on the table.

“Okay, yeah. You know, whatever,” Stiles says, looking around the restaurant, looking at pictures on the wall he never really looked at before.

They’re both quiet as the waitress puts their plates on the table and refills their coffee.

Stiles plows through half his omelet, and finally lifts his head, watching as Peter cuts his waffle into tidy little cubes. “I’m going to go back, you know. I mean, I know I _have to_ go back and do my thirty meetings, but… I’m not as bad as some of the other people there, you know?”

“Okay,” Peter says, dipping a cube of waffle with a slice of sausage into his pool of syrup. “It’ll be nice being in front of a judge and actually telling the truth for once. Break up the monotony. And no one says you need to be at rock bottom before you look to make a change. Take it from someone who was burned alive twice and had his throat slit.”

Nodding, Stiles finishes his omelet and starts putting jam on his toast before he pushes it away. “So this… is this the way you normally work with clients? Everyone gets a brunch after their first meeting? Or is it a lack of trust or what?”

“I told you a long time ago, Stiles, I like you. You were smarter than your peers then and I suspect you’re still smart. Smart enough to understand self-preservation.” Peter takes the discarded piece of toast and takes a bite of the center, putting the crusts back on his plate. “Besides, Ella, my packmate said she’d never forgive me if I let the author of her favorite mysteries vanish from my life again.”

Stiles takes a deep breath and says, “So you’re thinking you’d like to what? Maybe, like have dinners or something? Honestly, I’m not sure I want to become involved with another pack, Peter. Other than the books, that’s not part of my life anymore.”

“The pack is part of _my_ life, it doesn’t have to be part of yours.” Peter reaches across the small table and covers Stiles’ hand with his. “I don’t need to be part of your life, it’s all totally up to you. I’ll always be around and if you need anything, you have my number and if I can help you, I will.”

“All up to me? So if I want more than just an attorney-client relationship?”

Peter smiles and sits back, shrugging. “Up to you. My days of forcing myself on people – in any way -- are over.”

“Man!” Stiles says, letting his forehead thump down on the table, just avoiding the saucer holding packets of jam. “I fucking hate it when things are up to me, they tend to go badly.” He sits up and looks at Peter for a moment and finally says, “I’m not sure if it’s true, but on television shows when someone starts with…” he looks around and whispers, “you know, a program? They’re not supposed to become involved with someone for the first year. I mean, at least on TV and in movies. Do you know if that’s true?”

“I think it’s an unwritten rule; you need to concentrate on yourself and what you need. I have no intention of getting in the way of that.” They’re both silent while the waitress clears their table and leaves the check, which Peter quickly pulls towards him. “If we spend some time getting to know each other again – slowly, and nothing physical – would that make you comfortable?”

“No sex for a year? Is that what you’re saying?” Stiles’ asks, jaw dropped.

“There’s more to life and relationships than sex. I want to get to know you and have you get to know me. It seems we’ve both changed a lot over the last ten years.” He puts his credit card on the check and they watch the waitress sweep it up as she hurries between tables. “Who knows, maybe we’ll decide we should just be friends. Maybe at the end of a year, you’ll want the bite. It’s all a mystery and nothing needs to be determined now. You concentrate on you and we’ll see what happens.”

Stiles snorts and rubs his eyes, staying quiet while Peter signs the bill. “Other than the bite part, this sounds pretty reasonable. Maybe we go out after the trial? Is there a trial?”

“You’ll go to court and by that time, the prosecutor will have your thirty day slip and you’ll be lectured and told to pay a fine.” Peter stands, holding out a hand to help Stiles get out of the small booth.  “I think it’s a good idea; we’ll talk after court and see how things are going and maybe set up a dinner after that.”

Stiles nods as they go back into the sun, settling in to Peter’s car. “Sounds good. Slow burn, always good in fiction.”

“And we’ll see how it goes for us, too.” Peter says and pulls away from the curb.

“I’ve got to be crazy to even consider this,” Stiles says, but he grins at Peter and pats his hand as he steers into traffic.

Peter grins back, swerving around a slow moving truck. “And that’s why we work so well together.”

**Author's Note:**

> I did a bit of research on Seattle laws, hope I'm close. I don't know if Stiles is an alcoholic here or just has really bad coping methods. But mandated AA meetings are apparently typical.


End file.
